Someone wearing a fez, perhaps a Moslem, insists on taking me to the hotel, though I assure him that I am quite capable of carrying my little bag, and a few rugs over my arm. But he has seen Fethi Bey’s letter, and nothing, clearly, will prevent him from mounting beside the driver and burdening himself with my belongings. At Tokatlians’ Hotel, however, the Armenian porter handed him the truly magnificent tip of two Turkish pounds. He assured me that others pay double that sum for the little trip from the boat to the hotel! I see, at once, that there is a difference between Angora and Constantinople. In Anatolia no one would dream of thrusting his services upon his country’s friend, or of accepting a two pound tip for so short a ride. My Angora host’s servants could not even be induced to accept a tip when I left. At Angora there was none of the Levantine haggling over the price of a cab. In Constantinople I decided always to leave such matters to the porter, who was a kindly man and did his best. Nevertheless, I should seriously advise the Nationalists, when they are back here, to fix a tariff for luggage and cabs, as the traveller is now intolerably imposed on. There is compensation, of course, in the return to Western comforts, if not luxuries; above all, of the hot bath. I have already taken three; and they tell me that, if I still don’t feel clean, it is only because the water is always brown. One can, further, obtain the services of a manicurist, a hairdresser, and a chiropodist, all worthy men; and how I enjoy these hot-house sitting-rooms, and sheets like satin on the bed! A touch of fever and full permission to stay tired, are quite enough to make me perfectly content with my one “weary” hat—until my luggage condescends to get _un_-lost. * * * * * General Harington invited me to the Harbié (British Headquarters); chiefly, no doubt, to hear about the big men I have seen in Angora. There are few Englishmen more keenly interested than he in the personalities of the Nationalist leaders, particularly, of course, “the Pasha.” He speaks affectionately of “that nice, honest, fine soldier,” Ismet Pasha; and describes Refet Pasha as “a very clever man, one from whom I have never had an unkind or discourteous word. We are the best of friends.” I asked him whether “he was _altogether_ in sympathy with the Turks.” “You must remember,” he answered, “that I was with General Wilson. No one could have had a finer chief; and no man, I dare to say, could have followed more closely in his chief’s footsteps than I.” “Could not our troops be withdrawn, while such an act might still seem _le beau geste_?” “We ought never to have been here,” he replied. “It hurts my national pride to see you fine men doing police work.” I told him all I had learned about “the Pasha’s” opinion of the situation, and asked him when he intended to retire. “As soon as I feel really confident that Peace will be ratified.”